


Gravity

by whichclothes



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-16
Updated: 2012-04-16
Packaged: 2017-11-03 18:48:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/384655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whichclothes/pseuds/whichclothes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some years post-series, Giles makes a terrible discovery. Uses my nekid numbers prompts: roadtrip, hurt/comfort, cross. And an angst_bingo prompt: shutting down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gravity

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my lovely beta, silk_labyrinth !

****Gravity

 

Buffy tightened the bandage around Giles’ leg, stood up straight, and frowned. “You shouldn’t have come with us.”

“Why? Because I’ve become too ancient for such adventures?” He wiped his knife blade on his trousers, which were ruined anyway, and tucked it into the scabbard.

“Because you’re in-charge guy and we have a bazillion Slayers we can send on things like this.”

He gestured at the young women who were busily piling demon corpses in a corner of the warehouse or herding confused and sometimes wounded freed captives into a corner for triage. “And these girls are experienced at negotiating with multidimensional demon slavers, are they?”

“Not so much,” she admitted with a grimace. “But then today ended up more with the slayage and not as much with the negotiating anyway.”

He sighed because she was correct. At least it appeared that none of the captives were killed in the melee, nor any of the Slayers. But there would be considerable cleaning up to do, not to mention explanations to the Fresno authorities, and then the captives would need sorting. Not all of them were human, nor were they all from this world. This particular group of slavers apparently specialized in moving their chattel from one dimension to another for resale. Most of the wretched creatures now being released from cages had been bought and sold several times over the past few years.

Buffy patted his arm. “I’m gonna go get some more first aid stuff and make sure the bus is ready to roll. You can head back in your car now if you want. Are you okay to drive?”

“I’ll be fine.” Luckily, it was his left leg that had been injured. He would not have enjoyed riding halfway across the country in a bus packed full of Slayers and freed slaves. That was why he’d driven separately to begin with.

She patted him again and loped off towards the door. Giles was going to leave as well—albeit at a slower pace—but Xander came running up, eye patch slightly askew and face very, very pale.

“Giles! Oh, God, Giles, you gotta— Where’s Buff?”

“She just stepped outside. What’s the matter?”

“Good.” Xander ran a shaky hand through his unkempt hair. “You gotta come. Quick.”

Not liking the sound of that, Giles followed Xander, limping along as fast as his leg would permit. They walked past several rows of large wooden crates—presumably for transporting the slaves in their cages—and to the back of the large building, where the shadows were deep. They had to step around three demon carcasses and a large puddle of greenish blood. The smell was terrible. The slavers hadn’t yet prepared their captives for auction when the Slayers arrived, and many of the captives had been without proper toilet facilities for some time. Giles’ blood pressure skyrocketed just to think about living, feeling beings being treated so poorly. He wasn’t sorry the demons had all been destroyed.

But Xander was still leading back to the far wall. “Christ, Giles, this is… this is all kinds of wrong. I don’t even…. Fuck.”

Giles hadn’t seen Xander this shaken for years, not since they left Sunnydale, and he shuddered to imagine what had made the man so agitated.

When they finally arrived and Giles saw what was in the cage, he groaned slightly, but still didn’t understand Xander’s distress. The cage was made of heavy steel and, like the others in the room, was perhaps three feet in each dimension. The unfortunate man locked within was on his back. His wrists were in manacles that were attached to the top of the cage and his ankles were in irons as well. His knees were bent and spread, his ankles locked to the top of the cage, so that his privates were on full display. Some sort of chastity device was padlocked about his cock and balls and what seemed to be a very large plug or dildo was inserted in his arse. The bottoms of his feet were pressed near the top corner of the cage, and they were crisscrossed with bloody stripes.

“I thought he was dust,” Xander rasped, and Giles hadn’t any idea what he was talking about. Then he looked at the slave’s face—looked past the large metal ball gag that was buckled into his mouth—and Giles came to comprehend the reason for Xander’s concern.

“Oh, good Lord,” he exclaimed. Because even if the captive’s hair had grown long and curly and returned to its natural honey brown, Giles recognized the agonized blue eyes that stared up at him, the sharply sculpted cheekbones, the scar that ran through one eyebrow.

“He’s supposed to be dead,” Xander said. “Like, completely dead. In LA, right? That thing with Angel and those lawyer guys and wasn’t there something about a fucking dragon? ’Cause you said—”

Giles held up a hand to stop the babbling that was verging on hysteria. “Fetch Willow to unlock the cage, will you?”

Xander swallowed audibly and ran off.

Giles’ legs felt a bit weak—the injury wasn’t helping—but he kept his voice very firm and steady. “Spike? Are you listening?”

Spike made a muffled sort of croak and moved his head slightly. He couldn’t move it more than that because there was a metal collar around his neck, and the collar was attached to the bottom of the cage.

“We’ll have you out of there in a few moments. You’re safe now.”

The low moan that Spike made in response was more animal than human.

Xander must have given Willow some idea of what to expect, because when she came skidding breathlessly to a halt near the cage all she said was “Goddess!” and she immediately began to chant. She’d perfected this particular spell some time ago and was quite good at it, so it took only a minute or so for Spike’s bonds to click open. Spike’s hands and feet fell heavily as they were released.

Willow looked over at Giles. “I have to— I’m sorry, Giles, but the others—”

“I understand. Go free the rest. Xander, you’ll help me here?”

“Sure, boss.”

As Willow rushed away, Xander worked out how to open the cage. Spike made no attempt to climb out, although he didn’t resist as they pulled him free. Then he simply sat there, back bowed and arms wrapped around his legs, until Giles unfastened the gag and tossed it aside.

“Can you walk?” Giles asked.

Spike kept his head down but rose slowly to his feet. He fell to his knees almost at once, however, the wounds on his soles apparently too painful to bear.

“Can you carry him, Xander? I would, but my leg….”

“Sure.” Xander managed to scoop Spike into his arms, and Spike didn’t resist. He merely rested his head against Xander’s shoulder as if he was too tired to hold it upright. Xander didn’t appear to have too much difficulty in supporting Spike’s weight, but then Xander had been keeping himself quite fit and Spike looked terribly underfed.

Giles removed his jacket and draped it over the middle of Spike’s body, for which Spike gave him a grateful look. “Is the Slayer….” Spike began. His voice was very raspy, either from screaming or disuse.

“Buffy’s just outside. I can fetch her—”

“No! Please. Don’t want her to see.” 

Giles and Xander exchanged glances, and then Giles nodded. “Put him in my car, please. I’ll ensure that Buffy’s occupied elsewhere.”

“But we have to tell her—”

“Later. After Spike is… more settled.”

“Ta,” Spike said weakly and closed his eyes.

As it turned out, Buffy was already busy yelling at a pair of Slayers whose sloppy technique had nearly got them killed, and it was easy to slip past her unnoticed. Xander set Spike in the back of Giles’ Honda—surprisingly gently, Giles noticed—and Spike curled up at once on his side. 

“It’s not long until sunrise,” Giles said. “I’m going to check into a motel nearby so I can tend more properly to my leg and get Spike, erm, cleaned up. Don’t mention him to Buffy until you’re well on your way, please. We’ll most likely not arrive home until well after you.” Home in this case meant Missouri—Kansas City, specifically—a location they’d chosen a few years earlier due to its more or less central location, making deployment of Slayers more efficient. The Californians amongst them had complained about the weather but eventually adjusted. “You and Buffy will have to manage with the local authorities here.”

Xander peered worriedly through the window at Spike. “He’s… you don’t know what’s up with him. He’s never exactly been the poster child for mental health to begin with, and Christ knows what he’s been through. He’s still a vampire, Giles. Be careful.”

It pleased Giles to know that Xander worried about him, and he gave a small smile. “I shall. You’re the one with the long drive on a bus full of Slayers and whomever we’ve freed this evening.”

With a theatrical groan, Xander waved and walked away.

Giles pulled into the car park at a motel not far from the warehouse. It was a motor court that had probably been last renovated fifty years earlier, but it was the sort of place where the desk clerk wasn’t likely to balk over Giles’ currently disreputable appearance. Besides, Giles could park his car right outside their room and wouldn’t need to carry a naked, traumatized vampire through miles of corridors. The man behind the desk barely looked away from his television screen as he took Giles’ cash and handed over a room key.

The room itself was as horrible as Giles had imagined: warped plywood paneling on the walls, ancient and filthy shag carpet on the floor, a pair of nightstands that didn’t match but were both wonky, and one queen-size bed with a dubiously stained bedspread and a noticeable sag in the middle. He sighed and set Spike on the bed, then went back to the car for his suitcase. When Giles returned to the room, Spike was curled in a tight ball, silent and unmoving, Giles’ coat still draped over most of his body. 

Giles decided they would both be better off if he tended to his own wound first. The large first aid kit took up nearly half of his suitcase, but he had long ago learned to travel with a sufficient supply of bandages, antiseptics, and the like. He’d become an able field medic as well, so it took him only a few minutes in the bathroom to clean the gash just above his knee—it was long but not very deep—then smear on some antibiotic ointment and apply several butterfly closures. His trousers, however, were a lost cause, and he threw them in the bathroom bin. Then he pulled on his oldest, most comfortable jeans and, with a sigh of trepidation, went to check on Spike.

Spike hadn’t moved. He looked so very much like a corpse, in fact, that Giles was tempted to poke him and see if he responded. Instead, Giles cleared his throat rather loudly. “I haven’t any blood for you. I’ll find some in the morning. Would you like a bit of a wash up in the meantime?” That phrasing was a huge understatement, actually. Spike was filthy, his bare body liberally smeared with the dried remnants of fluids Giles would prefer remain unidentified.

Spike opened his eyes just a bit. “Can’t.”

“I can assist you. If you like.”

That made the vampire open his eyes more widely and give Giles a long look. “Yeah. Cheers.”

One of the room’s few good points was that there was a bathtub. Giles filled it with very hot water, scowled at the tiny cake of paper-wrapped soap, which would be woefully inadequate, and went back for Spike. He had been right—Spike weighed hardly more than a child, and even with the sore leg, Giles had no trouble transporting him to the bath. But when he deposited Spike into the water, splashing a good deal out in the process, he realized that the cock cage and plug were still in place.

For the first time in many years, Giles blushed. “Wouldn’t y-you like to, erm, remove those?” he asked, waving a hand vaguely in the direction of Spike’s midsection. 

Spike looked down as if he’d forgotten they were there. Blank-faced, he reached down to detach the cock cage. Giles couldn’t help but notice that Spike’s penis and scrotum looked raw and slightly bruised. He looked away, so he didn’t see when Spike removed the plug as well, but he heard the clatter and _thud_ as the items fell to the cracked tile of the floor. A moment later there was the slight crackle of paper, no doubt as Spike unwrapped the soap. Giles dug in his suitcase again, this time unearthing a bottle of shampoo.

“Here,” he said, turning back to the bathtub. “Use this.” The water had gone gray, but there were also a few swirls of pink. Spike must have had injuries in more places than the soles of his feet.

Spike took the bottle, but it slipped out of his hand and into the water. Fishing it out seemed to take more effort than he was capable of; he rested his head back against the edge of the tub with a slight _thunk_ and closed his eyes. “Jus’ a mo’,” he slurred.

Giles did not want a vampire sleeping in his bathtub again. He knelt on the floor, cursing softly at the combination of aging knees, hard floor, and recent wounding, and reached for a flannel. Spike didn’t protest as Giles scrubbed him. It was quite possible Spike was no longer awake.

Unexpectedly, Giles found himself enjoying his task. There was something inherently satisfying about taking something—or in this case, someone—dirty and making him clean. And the uninjured parts of Spike’s skin were smooth and flawless. It had been some time since Giles had touched anyone else for more than a moment.

Spike mumbled something incomprehensible when Giles washed his hair, but didn’t resist. Then he lay there as the water drained out of the tub, his ribs prominent and his hipbones jutting sharply. For no particular reason other than that it seemed right, Giles combed the snarls out of his hair.

By the time Spike was tucked into bed, the sun had risen. Fortunately, although the curtains over the single window were threadbare, a considerable overhang outside kept the bright rays from reaching the room. In fact, Giles would have wagered that natural light had never touched any of the contents of the room.

He made quick work of disposing of the cock cage and butt plug—using the damp flannel to pick up the items and obscure them as he crossed the room to the bin—and when that chore was complete, exhaustion hit him like a physical blow. He barely had enough stamina to remove his jeans and shirts before he crawled into bed beside the vampire. His last waking thought was on the strange turns his life seemed to take.

 

#

 

By midmorning gravity had rolled both Spike and Giles to the center of the bed. Giles woke up with a naked vampire sprawled on top of him. It was a less unpleasant position than he would have expected, and he would have remained but his bladder was full. He was also hungry, and needed to find provisions for them both. He managed to extricate himself without waking Spike.

Willow had talked him into purchasing an iPhone the previous year. He hadn’t been at all enthusiastic, but now the infernal gadget proved handy, as he was able to locate a slaughterhouse only a few miles from the motel. He washed up, shaved, and dressed. “I’m going out for a bit,” he announced. “Stay here.”

If Spike heard, he didn’t indicate it in any way. Giles made sure to hang the Do Not Disturb sign on the outside of the door; although considering the state of the room, conscientious maid service seemed unlikely.

On the way to the slaughterhouse, Giles came upon a Walmart. He was fairly certain that Walmarts were run by demons—certainly a large proportion of the customers seemed a bit off—but he didn’t have time to search for something better. Inside the store he gathered some jeans and T-shirts and shoes in what he hoped were Spike’s sizes. He didn’t bother with underclothes, knowing that the vampire didn’t wear them. Giles also bought a cooler and several bags of ice and then, almost as an afterthought, a case of the least objectionable brand of beer he could find.

He had to employ his extremely rusty Spanish once he arrived at the slaughterhouse, but in the end he was able to fill the cooler with plastic buckets of sangre.

Unwilling to leave Spike alone any longer, Giles ate at Burger King. It was as appalling as he had feared.

When he returned to the motel, he was relieved to see that Spike had moved. Not far—the vampire was sitting on the bed, knees against his chest, arms wrapped around his shins, head bowed. He flinched as Giles entered the room, then again when Giles approached. Giles chose not to notice.

It was a bit difficult to pour blood into one of the motel’s plastic cups without spilling, but then a few more bloodstains would likely only add to the room’s ambience. “I’ve no way to heat it, I’m afraid,” Giles said, holding the cup out to Spike.

Spike looked up and licked his lips but didn’t take the cup at once. Instead, he raised his chin. “What’s the payment then?”

“Pardon me?”

“How am I to sing for my supper?”

“I don’t— Oh.” Understanding roiled Giles’ stomach. “You don’t have to earn this, Spike.”

Spike looked distrustful but took the cup and gulped it down very fast. Giles refilled it for him and then sat on the edge of the mattress. “You, you do realize that you’re, erm, free now? Don’t you?”

Spike didn’t answer and didn’t meet his eyes.

“How long were you held?” Giles asked gently.

Spike shrugged. “Dunno.”

“When were you… taken?”

This time, Spike’s shoulders hunched. “They had bloody dragons,” he whispered.

“Oh, good Lord! That was nearly ten years ago!” And might have felt considerably longer, considering the time differentials between dimensions.

Spike startled him by suddenly dropping the empty cup and lurching across the bed and onto the floor; but before Giles could react he saw that all Spike was doing was prostrating himself at Giles’ feet. “Please. God, please don’t give me back to them. Just dust me, yeah?”

Even thin as he was, Spike was beautiful, and his nude, bowed body made Giles swallow thickly. With a good deal of effort, Giles leaned down to place a palm on Spike’s shoulder. “Those demons are all dead and I won’t force you to go anywhere. I told you, you’re free now.”

Spike shuddered but didn’t rise. Giles grasped his biceps and tugged at him, managing with some difficulty to get Spike seated beside him. “I’ve some clothing for you. Would you like some more blood first?”

“Yeah.”

Spike ended up drinking over a half gallon of blood, so much that his belly was visibly distended. He fumbled as he put on his T-shirt and jeans, and Giles couldn’t help but wonder when he’d last worn anything but chains and bondage gear. Spike didn’t even bother to fasten his trousers flies; with the jeans hanging off his hips he crawled back between the covers and, apparently, went to sleep.

Giles wasn’t really used to having free time, especially not in a ratty motel room in Fresno. He texted Xander, who texted back to inform him that the authorities had been mollified, that the bus was well on the way to Missouri, and that Buffy had, as Xander put it, flipped out over learning about Spike.

_ And how’s the ever undead doing? _ Xander added.

Giles glanced at Spike’s unmoving form and thought before typing a reply. _Traumatized_.

_ B careful G _ .

_ He doesn’t appear to be dangerous _ .

_ Yeah. Neither does Buff or Willow. _

Giles had to admit that Xander had a point. He was still formulating his answer when Xander sent another message. _Buff says bring him to KC soonest. Knows how 2 deal w freaked vamp she says. Angel._

Yes, Giles remembered when Angel returned from hell, and how Buffy had helped him recover. But Spike was a very different sort, and the same techniques might not apply. Well, that would be Buffy’s problem, Giles thought, not his. He simply had to deliver the vampire in question.

_ I’ll see you there _ , he wrote, then put the phone away.

He discovered a book buried in his suitcase, a paperback spy novel he’d started years earlier then forgotten. There were no chairs in the room so he sat on the bed beside Spike and read. Spike stirred now and then as the afternoon crawled by, and each time Giles brought him more blood. The book wasn’t a very good one and Giles dozed on and off.

Shortly before the sun set, Giles showered and packed his bag. “We should go,” he said to Spike.

Spike looked slightly terrified. “Go?”

“To, to Kansas City. Our headquarters. Buffy will be waiting.”

“Oh.” Spike looked less than pleased at the news. “She doesn’t…. I don’t want….”

“She hasn’t been told any details. Only that we found you in that warehouse.”

“Girl’s not stupid.”

“No, she’s not,” agreed Giles. “But we’ve a long journey and by the time we arrive you should be much improved.” _Physically, anyway_ , Giles didn’t add. 

With an air of resignation, Spike nodded and rose from the bed. This time he was able to fasten his jeans. His feet were still too sore for the shoes Giles had purchased, but he could walk the short distance to the car. He waited in the passenger seat while Giles loaded the suitcase, the cooler, and the bag containing Spike’s extra clothes. 

Spike didn’t say a word as Giles began driving south on Highway 99. He stared silently out the window when Giles stopped at another drive-through for dinner. All the way east on Highway 58 and then Interstate 15, the vampire was almost indistinguishable from a statue. Even when Giles stopped to stretch his legs, buy more petrol, or find a toilet, Spike didn’t move.

Giles drove right through Las Vegas and clipped the corner of Arizona, finally coming to a halt at a chain motel slightly over the Utah border, just as the sky was beginning to lighten. His injured leg was throbbing a bit. Spike waited in the car while Giles checked in, and then followed Giles like an obedient puppy into a room that proved considerably nicer than the one in Fresno. This room had two beds and a microwave.

Spike stood uncertainly in the middle, his hands hanging at his sides, while Giles carted in the luggage. “Do you want to bathe again?” Giles asked.

“No. Just… tired, yeah?”

“Very well. Let me heat you some blood first.”

Spike drank a good deal of the warmed liquid and seemed so taken with it that Giles wondered what he’d been given to eat over the past years. When his stomach was full, Spike pulled off his shirt and dropped his trousers unselfconsciously, then climbed into one of the beds.

Giles felt a bit restless. He sat on the second bed. “Fancy watching some telly?”

Spike didn’t answer. He was already curled in a fetal ball again. 

“Right then,” Giles muttered and turned the set on. He kept the volume low, however, and didn’t really watch the bright images that flashed across the screen. More disturbing images kept playing through his head, brief flashes of the sorts of things that could reduce a swaggering, brash, loquacious vampire to this silent, cowed creature. They were not pleasant things to see, even in his imagination. Finally he padded across the room until he found the case of beer he’d purchased that morning. He drank a half dozen cans before falling asleep with the television still on.

 

#

 

In the early afternoon, Giles went out again. He’d had quite enough fast food already, so this time he ate at a restaurant adjacent to the motel. Still not very good, but an improvement. Afterwards, he found a bookstore and bought Patti Smith’s autobiography, a book about introverts, and a novel that had something to do with the French Resistance. Then he returned to the motel and leafed through the books while he did his laundry in a small room off the lobby.

He and Spike left again at sunset. Spike had filled out quite noticeably and his feet had mended enough for shoes. But his shoulder remained bent, his face carefully blank, and sometimes he still flinched if Giles moved too quickly.

Just outside Grand Junction, Spike said, “They all died.”

He hadn’t said more than a word or two all day, and it took Giles a moment to get over his surprise and process the sentence itself. “Who died?”

“Liam. Gunn. Percy. Blue. Every one of them.”

Ah. The battle in Los Angeles. “I’m sorry,” Giles said, because he didn’t know what else to say.

“What happened after? World didn’t end.”

“Not quite. But we heard what had happened—we were in Kentucky at the time—and we sent an entire army of Slayers to LA. Wolfram & Hart had already been weakened by, by you and the others. We defeated them.”

For the first time in hundreds of miles, Spike turned his head to look at him. “Defeated?”

“Quite.”

The vampire’s expression was inscrutable, so Giles turned his attention to the dark highway in front of him. “I’m sorry we couldn’t have joined forces with you. If we’d known what Angel was up to—”

“You wouldn’t have trusted him. Nearly didn’t myself.” Spike’s voice was quiet, non-accusatory.

“Perhaps.”

After a pause, Spike said, “Turned out all right then, I expect.”

“Yes. Except Angel and your, your allies were killed. And you….”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“It mattered to you. And to others as well.” Giles considered for a few seconds and then decided to go on. “You’ve friends, you know. People who care about you. We all thought you’d died in that battle. You were mourned, Spike.”

“Why?”

“Because… because you’re a hero.” Those weren’t words that Giles had ever expected to say to Spike, but they were true. Yes, he was a demon with a terrible past. But not even Giles could deny that he’d attempted to be… good. That he’d battled to gain a soul, and burned to ash saving the world, and then followed up with a brave attempt—despite overwhelming odds—to fight evil again.

Spike didn’t say anything and Giles refused to look at his face. 

They drove through Denver and a little past, and this time Giles didn’t even bother to note the name of the town where he stopped. This motel was as old as the one in Fresno and only slightly better kept, but it was a single building with two floors. His and Spike’s room was on the ground floor and had two beds.

After the bit of conversation in the car, Giles expected more activity from Spike. But once again, Spike simply drank his blood—unheated this time—and stripped and went to bed. Giles read for a few hours before turning off the light. He didn’t fall asleep for a long time, however. This time he pictured Spike in the bathtub, so frail and… lost. No vampire should look like that. 

 

#

 

Giles slept much later than usual. The trip was exhausting him: the driving, the reversal of day and night activities, the worries about Spike. This time after he showered and dressed, he told Spike he’d return soon and then set out on a long walk. There was nothing interesting to see, but it felt good to take some exercise even with his leg giving him minor twinges. He stopped at a small grocers and bought a bread roll, a bit of cheese, and two apples, and he munched on his makeshift meal as he walked back to the motel.

The smell of smoke and scorched flesh hit him at once.

He dropped his grocery sack and rushed into the motel room. Spike was pressed into one corner, not a stitch of clothing on, his pale skin contrasting with the ghastly green and yellow patterned wallpaper. He was holding a Gideon Bible in one smoking hand, while his other hand was rubbing something across his torso that burned him in its wake.

Without thinking, Giles ran to him, jerked the Bible away, and threw it across the floor. He grabbed Spike’s other hand—ignoring the sickening way that the fingers had charred—and carefully pried away a small wooden cross. He hadn’t any idea where the vampire had found such a thing. In the bedside table with the Bible perhaps. He tossed the cross aside as well. “What the bloody hell are you doing?” he roared.

Spike looked up at him like a scared young boy. “Burning away the corruption,” he whispered.

“Oh, good Lord.” And then, as impetuously as he’d taken away the religious items, Giles pulled Spike into a firm embrace. “You’re not corrupted, you fool. At least, no more so than any other man.”

“What I’ve done…. What’s been done to me….” Spike’s voice was muffled against Giles’ shoulder.

“Yes. I, I should think that several years of therapy may be in order.” He allowed his head to rest against Spike’s, even though his glasses were pushed slightly askew. “But you’ll be amongst friends, Spike. They… _we_ can help you. Friends do.”

“Why would you help me? You hate me.”

“Nonsense. If I hated you would I be doing this?” Giles squeezed a bit more tightly and lightly kissed Spike’s temple. “If a vampire can improve himself, I daresay a Watcher can as well.”

The sound Spike made in response was more of a cry than a laugh, but he wrapped his arms around Giles and loosened his posture, then let out a long, noisy sigh.

Despite their close contact and Spike’s nudity, there was nothing sexual about their position. It was simply comfort given and solace taken, and it felt surprisingly nice.

“Let’s see to those burns,” Giles said after several minutes.

He had ointment in his first aid kit, and miles of bandages that Spike didn’t truly need, but which made Giles feel better. And there was more blood—the best medicine under the circumstances. Giles had intended to press on to Kansas City that evening. Instead he stripped to his boxers and pulled Spike into bed with him, and they remained wrapped in one another’s embrace. Spike slept, but this time his face looked almost peaceful, and when he woke to feed a bit, Giles thought he detected a hint of sparkle in the blue eyes. After drinking, Spike pressed himself tightly against Giles, who couldn’t help but notice that Spike’s cock was half hard, especially after Spike wiggled slightly against him. Giles willed his own answering erection away.

Before falling asleep, Giles texted Xander: _Slightly delayed but all is well._

 

#

 

Spike’s burns had mended nearly completely by the following evening. He even helped carry the luggage to the car. And although he was quiet again in the passenger seat, he seemed a bit more relaxed, his shoulders finally unhunched.

“What are you doing in Kansas City?” he asked sometime shortly after they crossed into Kansas.

“We’ve a headquarters there. We bought an old elementary school, actually, and Xander oversaw the refurbishments. We, we have Slayers stationed all over, but we keep track of them, and we train them, and we—”

“Not _we_ ,” Spike interrupted. “Wasn’t asking about the rest of that lot. What are _you_ doing in Kansas City, Rupert Giles?”

“I… I assist Buffy, and—”

“Assist. And me? I’ll be the pet demon? Poor, poor Spike, yeah?”

“Nobody thinks of you like that.”

Spike snorted and then was silent.

Everyone would be very kind to Spike. They would fuss over him. Tread carefully around him. Christ, that wasn’t what a vampire wanted. Wasn’t what a _man_ wanted.

Giles thought for a long time—across the whole width of Kansas.

When they arrived in Kansas City, Giles did not take the junction to I-35. He kept heading east on 70, and only when they zoomed through Concordia did Spike turn his head to look at Giles.

“Rupert?” he asked, quietly, carefully. But was that a bit of hope in his voice, a touch of spirit?

“I’ve heard rumors of some demon activity near Scranton. Fancy looking into it with me?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Giles saw Spike smile.

He’d have to text Xander later and explain. Probably he should ring Buffy as well. But that could wait for tomorrow. Tonight, Giles simply enjoyed the rush of anticipation, stepped harder on the accelerator, and grinned.

 

_ ~~fin~~ _

 

 

 

 


End file.
